


Visit

by aroacestronaut



Category: The Chronicles Of Vladimir Tod - Zac Brewer
Genre: M/M, i don't have a better title, you read the ship thing right, zoe inspired me to do this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 23:37:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9095665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aroacestronaut/pseuds/aroacestronaut
Summary: In which D'Ablo is his usual nasty self but not really.





	

D’Ablo just didn’t like getting out of bed.

As a principle.

Normally, when his alarm rang he’d drag himself downstairs, yawning hugely and fighting to keep his eyelids open. But the world out there was cold and unforgiving and D’Ablo wasn’t having any of it today. Besides, it was Saturday. He didn’t have to go to work.

Then why was his alarm ringing?

He picked up his phone to find that it wasn’t his alarm -- the screen was blank but for a few texts and email notifications -- and then there was the sound again, the one that woke him up.

His doorbell.

D’Ablo groaned and smashed the pillow over his face, but that served nothing to drown out the doorbell. Whoever it was was pressing it repeatedly, several times in a row, only interrupting themself to really lay on it, pressing it so that the buzz was incessant. It sounded urgent.

Whoever it was had better have a fucking wonderful reason to come by at . . . ten PM, and interrupt one of the few times he got to sleep in.

D’Ablo slipped out of bed, pulling his comforter with him. He barely paused to take the knife out from under his pillow, in case he needed to defend himself against some grudge-holding family member of a vampire whom he’d executed. That certainly wouldn’t have been the first time someone seeking revenge had come knocking, and he was willing to bet that it wouldn’t be the last, if indeed it was a bitter family member.

He peeked outside just as Dorian held his doorbell down  _ again _ \-- Dorian, of course it had to be Dorian, because holding someone’s doorbell down or pressing it repeatedly when he didn’t get an answer was exactly something a child would do, and that’s what Dorian was, an overgrown child in a man’s body. A child with a man’s intelligence, a man’s looks (devastating looks), and certainly a man’s cruelty, but Dorian was, above all, Elysia’s spoiled brat.

D’Ablo opened the door with a scowl, exposing his bare chest to a blast of freezing night air. Fuck December, and fuck Dorian, too. “The hell are you doing here?”

Dorian smiled, all straight white teeth and full lips, and tried to step around him. D’Ablo sidestepped with him, raised eyebrow and frown telling him that no, he wasn’t coming in, not if D’Ablo could help it.

“I was in the neighborhood,” Dorian said finally.

“You live in  _ New York _ . You definitely weren’t coincidentally in  _ my _ neighborhood, in  _ Michigan _ , in the middle of December, right before a snowstorm. Try again.”

Dorian rolled his eyes and tried to step around D’Ablo again. D’Ablo matched him pace for pace, even if his skin was, by then, riddled in goosebumps and all he wanted was to go back to bed. “ _ What _ are you doing here?”

“Snowstorm,” Dorian said smoothly. “I don’t want to be caught on the streets. I landed at the airport and I decided if I didn’t want that to happen--”  
“Why are you in _Michigan_ in the first place? New York is Southeast of here, you could have easily stayed--”  
“Let me in, D’Ablo.” Dorian’s voice was low, full of warning. His patience had already run thin, and just like a spoiled child asking for something he wasn’t about to get, he seemed to be about to throw a tantrum. “I think this has gone on long enough.”

Somehow Dorian’s voice was even colder than the December air, sending nervous chills down D’Ablo’s spine. He swallowed and stepped aside, letting Dorian flounce in, smile back on his face as if it had never left.

The door shut behind him with a quiet click, blocking the cold from outside, and Dorian rounded on him. D’Ablo stood with his arms crossed. “Now that you’re inside, answer me. What are you doing here?”

Dorian advanced with a smile, just the slightest hint of fangs, but D’Ablo held his ground. “You’re so impatient.” One gloved hand came up and gently cupped D’Ablo’s cheek. Despite his irritation, D’Ablo tilted his head into it. Dorian came closer, leaned in until all D’Ablo could see were the flecks of green and gold swimming in his deep brown eyes. Their lips touched, and then Dorian deepened the kiss and D’Ablo melted into it, arms coming up around the taller man’s neck. Dorian’s hands trailed a searing path down D’Ablo’s bare torso under the comforter, stopping at his waist and pulling him close.

When they parted, D’Ablo’s face was flushed. He cleared his throat and slipped from Dorian’s arms, stepped around him into the living room. “So what  _ are _ you doing here?”

He could  _ hear _ Dorian rolling his eyes behind him. “I wanted to stop by. Figured the storm would make for a good enough excuse for my staying over. I appealed to the goodness of your heart and you didn’t kick me out on my ass to find an expensive hotel twenty minutes before a blizzard.”

“You timed it? You knew I was going to be in New York next week.”

“Yes, but I wanted to see you.”

“God, you’re hopeless. Make yourself useful and start a fire, will you?”

“Are you using this coffee table?”  
“In the _fireplace_ , you idiot. And don’t use those papers.”  
Dorian put the mountain of official-looking papers he was holding on the already overflowing coffee table.

“There’s wood outside,” D’Ablo said. “You know where it is?”

“What will you give me if I go get it?”

“I  _ won’t _ give you my foot up your ass. Go.”

“You’re evil.”

“You like it.”

Dorian didn’t answer that, but he did roll his eyes in that loud way that he had. The back door swung shut with a bang and D’Ablo went into the kitchen, taking a carton of milk out of the fridge and cocoa powder and sugar from the pantry. The milk was just warming on the stove when the back door banged again, this time signalling Dorian’s entrance. D’Ablo poked his head into the living room to find Dorian carrying an enormous log. “That’s not going to fit.”

Dorian grinned at him and D’Ablo interrupted him before he could say something along the lines of “ _ that’s what you said _ ”. “Chop it in thirds, at least. And get some twigs, the fire’s not going to start without them.”

Dorian groaned loudly but obliged, heaving it up and walking back out. A couple seconds later, D’Ablo heard loud  _ thwacks _ as Dorian swung an axe (“borrowed” from a Slayer who thought she was too good for a hatchet) down on the wood. He took the chance to run upstairs and dress -- nothing fancy, only a sweater and sweatpants -- and when Dorian came back inside, the hot chocolate was ready. D’Ablo thanked him with a kiss on the cheek and handed him a mug. Dorian decided a cheek wasn’t enough and almost caused D’Ablo to spill his entire mug on himself in an insistent kiss. A minute later, the hot chocolate was balanced precariously in a somewhat stable pile of papers on the coffee table in front of them, and D’Ablo was curled next to Dorian, under a blanket, head resting on his shoulder, gazing into the flames. The storm had started right around the time that Dorian had walked in with the chopped wood, and it roared outside, making the house seem all the more warm.

“Why did you get dressed?” Dorian whined.

D’Ablo reached over for his own hot chocolate, burning his tongue on the scalding milk. “It’s ten degrees below freezing out there and you made me get up and open the door for you.”

“I wouldn’t have had to if you just put a key under the welcome mat like a normal person.”

“Mm. Too welcoming of a welcome mat.  _ ‘Free entrance to Slayers, assassins, and anyone else who holds a grudge against D’Ablo della Vega. Take a number and get in line.’ _ ”

“Do you have to be so sarcastic about it?”

“It’s what you deserve for being with me and saying stupid things.”

“Why  _ am _ I even with you?” Dorian’s hand lazily strokes D’Ablo’s head, belying his words.

“Good sex. My delightful personality.”  
“It’s the sex. Which brings us back to why you got dressed.”

“You brought it on yourself,” D’Ablo murmured, putting his mug down and snuggling in close, determined to absorb as much of Dorian’s body heat as possible to warm his ever-cold body. “Not allowed to complain.”

“You can’t open the door in tight shorts and and not expect me to get a little ups--”  
“Shh--” the sound was choppy with laughter, Dorian’s exclamation too amusing-- “no complaining.” A thought occurred to him, and his face turned sober. “Are you sure no one followed you?”

Hurt flashed across Dorian’s eyes but D’Ablo chose to ignore it. “I’m sure. And the performance you put on was enough to make the thought of a  _ relationship _ die in anyone watching.”

“Oh.” D’Ablo could feel how stiff Dorian was-- Lord knew that question was best left until later, for when the mood was more serious, but D’Ablo never caught a break from his paranoia. If anyone found out about them -- whatever  _ they _ had, whatever  _ this _ was -- it would spell disaster. Dorian understood this, but D’Ablo knew he was putting on a brave face. Dorian couldn’t care one way or another who knew.

The other explanation was that Dorian was keeping quiet for D’Ablo’s sake, but D’Ablo didn’t much like thinking about that. It opened up too many cans of worms. About them. About  _ this _ .

“Yes. I know what I’m doing.”

“Dorian--”

“Don’t.” D’Ablo felt an unusual pang in his chest before Dorian’s arm tightened around him, pulling him closer, silencing him. “You’re scared. I understand. But I know what I’m doing, alright? I won’t slip up. Everything will work out.”

How often had they had different versions of this conversation? And how often had D’Ablo felt, not a sense of comfort, but even more nervous than before? Worse still, he shouldn’t even have been doubting Dorian. D’Ablo was more likely to let something slip, with his tendency to speak at a thousand miles per hour without thinking. He  _ knew _ that. But still, D’Ablo worries.

“You’re right,” he finally said. “I’m sorry.”

Dorian kissed the top of his head. “You’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. Everything is going to be fine.”

_ Everything is going to be fine. _ D’Ablo wanted to believe it. He tilted his head up when Dorian went to kiss him again, causing Dorian’s lips to brush his nose. Dorian took the hint and kissed him hard. D’Ablo’s hands came up once again around Dorian’s neck, deepening the kiss.

_ Everything is going to be fine. _

Right then and there, in Dorian’s arms, everything really was fine.


End file.
